


A Little Less Conversation

by Anonymous



Category: The Hateful Eight (2015)
Genre: Cock Warming, Consent Issues, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, Praise Kink, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9431450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In which Marquis Warren solves the problem of Chris Mannix's mouth, at least temporarily, and ensures himself a nice, quiet breakfast.(And in which Chris Mannix is a good boy.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> For my fellow _Hateful Eight_ nonnies. (And the _Django_ nod snuck its way in, too.)
> 
> Not significant enough to make the tags, but: a spot of internalized homophobia, spanking references, blow jobs, hand jobs, and a little bit of subspace.

And he’d _thought_ they were having a nice morning.

“But it was my mother’s brother Uncle Billy who taught me how to ride, major—that was before he died—”

“How’d it be _after_ he died, dumbass?”

“Well, it wouldn’t, but I’m just saying that would have been in the fifties, to establish a timeline.”

“White boy, I ain’t writing your fucking biography here, I’m trying to eat breakfast without losing my mind from you prattling on about dead men giving you riding lessons.”

Chris didn’t think that was fair at all, since his entire _point_ had been that Uncle Billy _hadn’t_ been dead, but the Major got into moods sometimes that he supposed he had to be generous enough of spirit—white man’s burden and all that shit—to accommodate. (And it wasn’t all bad: the _last_ time the Major had gotten persnickety like this, Chris had accommodated himself right into a week of not being able to sit down. _And_ the Major had conceded his ass had looked all _kinds_ of pretty that way.)

He waited a gracious second or two—shoveled some eggs into his mouth—and then continued, “So like I was _saying_ , it was Uncle Billy who taught me how to ride, but it was my Uncle Frank—and he wasn’t really, legally, by-true-bloodline my uncle, major, he was just in the way of being called that on account of how him and my daddy had been so close growing up?—who taught my brother _Ernest_ how to ride, and I was sore about that for a while, because I figured my daddy was favoring Ernest because he _always_ favored Ernest—Ernest being so close to being named after him and all—and Uncle Frank knew all kinds of riding tricks because one time he saw those Austrian horses that get their knees up all high, but now that I think about it—”

Then he stopped, because the Major had given up on what was left of his toast and started unbuttoning his fly instead. Chris’s dick twitched kind of hopefully. He was getting to be as bad as a dog with a dinner-bell, the way his blood ran just the one way in response to the Major doing damn near _anything_.

He was rankled by that just enough that he kept talking out of sheer fucking spite, “But now that I _think_ about it, that Austrian shit ain’t what you’d call practical for a man doing man’s work—”

“Chris.”

Well, he had his limits as to how far he could ignore the present situation. His ears were burning hot. “Yes, sir?”

“You’ve been summoned to fucking task.”

“Major, I ain’t your live-in bended-knee cocksucker, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m eating breakfast.”

“Last I _checked_ , white boy, that’s _exactly_ what you are, so hit the floor.”

Chris’s sense of affronted dignity and objection to letting perfectly good fried eggs go cold on his plate warred with the hot little twist he got inside him when the Major was being just this fucking unreasonable.

“I came out ahead on riding is the fundamental point of the story, major.”

“Get a little snappier doing what you’re told and maybe you _will_ come out ahead on riding. And I can see you like _that_ idea.”

“Commenting on other people’s privates ain’t what I’d call polite,” Chris said, but as a matter of fact, he _did_ like it—liked getting himself nice and stretched and slippery while the Major laid back with his arms behind his head and just fucking _watched_ him like he was some kind of private show, liked easing himself down on the Major real nice and slow. That didn’t mean it was anything other than rude for the Major to mention it. But he shouldn’t waste his time talking to discourteous people, so he grabbed another bite of breakfast and then pushed his chair noisily back under the table, walked over to the Major, and got down on his knees.

The Major wasn’t all the way hard yet, so Chris licked him a little and worked the base of his cock with his hand; put the head in his mouth and sucked at it, teased his tongue over it and got rewarded with the nice bitter taste of the Major starting to glisten for him. He hummed a bit so the Major would know he appreciated it and then—

And then that motherfucker _took a bite of fucking toast_. Chris heard it crunch.

He couldn’t have felt more disrespected if somebody had gone and flung mud in his face. There he was, giving what he damn well knew was quality head, fucking _debasing_ himself being a white man down on his knees in this kind of situation at _all_ , and the Major wasn’t even paying attention to him? That was downright lowdown. He started to lift his head and rock back on his heels and explain just _how_ lowdown, in case the Major was in any fucking doubt, but the Major caught him hard by the hair and held him down, kept his mouth full of cock.

“No,” the Major said calmly, “you’re gonna stay.”

Chris made a muffled sound of protest.

“You’re at something of a disadvantage here, boy. Down on your knees like you are, you ain’t difficult to keep in place, short, admittedly, of you going and biting, but I don’t think you’re gonna do damage to your very favorite thing in the whole fucking world.”

Like _hell_ the Major’s dick was his very favorite thing, he liked lots of things, liked all _kinds_ of things. He made a more insistent sound but the Major just pushed him down a little further. Made him take a little more.

“What I want is some peace and quiet while I eat breakfast and read the paper I got in Red Rock two damn weeks ago and ain’t been able to crack past the headlines because of your fucking inability to keep your mouth shut for ten minutes at a time. So if your mouth won’t stay _shut_ , white boy, it’s gonna stay _full_. Suck or don’t suck, that’s up to you, but you’re staying down there just like that until I decide I got patience for you again.”

He sucked hard, deliberately way too hard, but the Major just laughed at him and scratched at his head a little like he was a dog chewing on slippers.

“Go on and make yourself comfortable. Like I said, what you do’s up to you, so long as you keep my cock nice and warm with that pretty mouth of yours.”

It couldn’t _possibly_ take a man that long to read the paper. If the Major couldn’t be dissuaded—

Well, Chris wasn’t going to blow him, that was for damn sure, wasn’t going to _reward_ this kind of dirty trick, but in his opinion the Major could have at least acted like it was breaking his heart to miss out on it. He gave one more aggressive suck and then did as instructed and settled in for the long haul, putting his knees more under the Major’s chair and putting his ass to rest a little on his heels. He could keep nearly all of the Major’s cock in his mouth that way, especially as it softened again.

It was funny being down there like that because there was nothing to think about, though he killed a couple minutes deader than Daisy Domergue in pure fuming about the injustice of it all. But aside from that he had nothing to do and nothing to really look at, outside of the little bit of the Major’s cock that he couldn’t get to and keep his easy position. That inch or so started tormenting him the longer he was down there, so he shifted again and took it, too, even though he didn’t know that he couldn’t stay like that for very long. He was impressed with himself, though, and that was something, and he was even more impressed with himself when the Major started getting hard again. Good, _let_ the bastard get distracted from his fucking newspaper.

Chris went back to his diligent blowjob, even though his jaw was already starting to hurt: he sucked and bobbed his head, nice and lazy, all decadent like the Major liked on occasion to be when they had the time and privacy for it. But he didn’t pull back as much as he might have—didn’t take his mouth off at all to get in a lick or two or let the Major feel that cool air on him as a kind of playful change of pace. The Major had said his cock had to stay nice and warm and nice and warm was exactly what Chris was going to keep it, because he wasn’t going to give the Major any fucking excuse to say he hadn’t done it right.

It took longer than usual like that, with him going slow and soft and the Major being unwilling to act like anything other than a disinterested third party, but Chris _did_ make him come—he gripped his own knees tightly as he did to keep himself under control—and coming made the Major’s hips bear forward just a little bit. Chris wanted to pull back at that and kiss him—pay attention to the insides of his thighs, for one thing—but: nice and warm, nice and warm.

And then he really _didn’t_ have anything to do or anything to pin his mind to so it wouldn’t go wandering off. He just knelt there with his eyes closed and the Major’s cock in his mouth and his own undecidedly stiffening from time to time like it didn’t know what was going on.

The Major’s skin was so awfully soft. It felt good, holding him this way. The taste of the Major’s come still on his tongue. Just being open for him like that. He didn’t know how long he’d been down on the floor except his jaw hurt and his knees hurt, but they both seemed distant enough that he could live with them for as long as he needed to. His jaw hurting he almost liked, the way he was proud of his war wound scars and fascinated by the Major’s.

Nice and warm, nice and warm, nice and warm. Nice and good and quiet.

He was drooling a little, and _that_ jerked him back to himself somewhat. He couldn’t seem to stop it. He didn’t like being slobbery like that but there was no way to wipe his mouth with the Major still _in_ his mouth unless he brought his hand up real careful and wiped his chin and cheeks around and under, and that felt like cheating somehow. Anyway, he was half-past certain the Major would want to see him like this, because he had an irrational damn fixation on getting Chris all sloppy and wrung-out and improper-looking.

It was sometime later when he felt the Major’s hand come down nice and gentle on his head—not lifting him, just sort of combing through Chris’s hair with his fingers. “Doing real well for me, boy. I’d say just a little while longer, but you look so good down there like that I’m tempted to make it your regular fucking routine.”

He thought about kneeling down with his mouth between the Major’s spread thighs at breakfast _every_ morning and felt like his heart skipped a beat. His cock sure as hell resumed its interest in the proceedings.

The Major petted him a little more. He didn’t act like this much and Chris had no particular way of predicting when he _would_ act like this, so he just enjoyed it when it happened and tried to keep his mind off why he _did_ enjoy it so much. It wasn’t right, he knew that. Anybody could about excuse a man wanting to get off how he wanted to get off but the rest of it was something else. He had no business truckling with it and no pride and no honor and no sense of shame, evidently, doing the things he did, feeling the things he felt—

“Don’t go panting like you’re outrunning a damn grizzly,” the Major said. “Nice and steady.”

Chris exhaled. He felt wet and exhausted and stirred up and he couldn’t decide between wanting to get up and walk right out the door and never turn around and wanting to stay down there forever. Well, either idea was fucking impractical. It wasn’t like he was actually gonna leave anytime ever and it wasn’t like they had the kind of plush rugs that would make kneeling down forever sound anything close to plausible. He had to go at things straight like that or else he would get crooked for good. He was where he was and that was the long and fucking short of it.

And he had his Major’s cock in his mouth and his Major’s hand in his hair and he liked both of those things just fucking fine.

He moved his tongue delicately along the underside of the Major’s cock, even though it felt past him to do anything with much fine-tuning, as stiff as his jaw and lips had gotten, and the Major seemed correctly to take that as an agreement that he would be calm because he went back to stroking him and said, “My good boy. You want to stay like that, don’t you? I know the way your fucking mind works, Chris Mannix. If I told you I once had a boy like you who stayed down there for three hours, you’d want to stay for four.”

Evidently the Major _didn’t_ know how his mind worked, because if Chris thought for one minute the Major had done this before with some fellow who’d lasted three hours, Chris would die with a mouthful of cock before he’d get up anywhere short of _six_. He sucked enthusiastically to emphasize that and the Major laughed at him, but not in a mean kind of way, and then he let Chris tend to him a little bit more even though it didn’t seem like anything was going to happen. Chris didn’t mind that any. He just wanted the smell and the taste.

“All right, all right, enough fucking around,” the Major said. He got his hand under Chris’s chin and lifted him up, looking at him in an unfamiliar kind of way.

It felt strange, having his mouth be empty again. He looked down at the Major’s cock, still wet from his mouth and his throat.

“You look like a damn mess, white boy. I bet you drooled all over my fucking floor.”

He rolled his jaw around a little and rubbed at it and decided he could entrust himself with talking a little: “Yes, sir.”

“Most debauched-looking cracker I ever had the misfortune of seeing.” He ran his thumb across Chris’s lips. “And you know what I find interesting about all this, Mannix?”

“I don’t know, major, something you read in the fucking paper that was so fucking fascinating you had to fucking _defile_ me over it?”

That won him a chuckle. “No, what I find _interesting_ is I didn’t say shit about you not being allowed to come while you were down there, boy, and yet here you are all hard-cocked and needy.”

He’d never once thought about it was the miserable truth of it, but that was nothing to admit to. “I was holding out for a little _reciprocity_ , major. See, I _got_ self-control, I don’t go around shoving people down on my johnson just because _I_ got a poor sense of anecdote.”

“I’ll allow for reciprocity of a kind being fair,” the Major said. “I won’t allow you have any reasonable claims to deserving fairness, but let’s just say I’m generous. In fact, now that I’m back to letting you talk, misguided decision as that is, why don’t you make sure I _hear_ I’m generous?”

Chris came up off his knees—which made an uncomfortable kind of popping noise, sometimes he forgot being younger than the Major didn’t make him exactly _young_ —and undid his fly, teasing himself free button by button, because he knew what the Major liked and _two_ could play this game. Chris didn’t have to let anybody have the upper hand on him: no, _sir_. He slipped his hand inside and freed himself from his drawers and let the Major get a nice, long look at how hot and ready Chris had gotten for him.

“You’re so generous, sir,” he said, “even _considering_ putting your hands on me. I know how you _hate_ me begging for you.”

The Major snorted a little, but it wasn’t like he was looking away.

“You want me shut up again, is that it? Do I got to be quiet to earn it?”

“No,” the Major said. He stood up and reached out for Chris—took him in his hand so suddenly that Chris couldn’t stop himself from gasping as the Major’s warm hand, broader-palmed than his own, closed around his cock and started working him up and down like he had all the time in the world. “Let’s go in the other direction, Chris. Let’s say I want you to _talk_.”

“Ah—”

“That’s a fucking syllable, that’s not talking. I asked you to _talk_ , dumbass. You were doing all right, being tolerable down there on your knees, and now that I’ve let you up it’s just nothing but backsliding.”

Right: talking. He knew how to talk. Never mind how good it felt to get touched after who the fuck knew how long he’d been off-and-on hard. “Major, that feels so good, you always know what to do for me—always know what I need.” That was overegging the pudding whether it was true or not, so he paused to try to plan ahead a little, but the Major just clicked his tongue at him and sped up some, divorced Chris’s thoughts from his head and put them right straight into his mouth.

“Love your fucking hands on me, yeah, like that—loved you in my mouth, need you in my mouth, I don’t know when to shut the hell up without you teaching me but I’ll be good for you, major, I’ll be so fucking good—and—and I know you won’t let me get by with anything less—”

“No, but I think it’s been a little too long since I’ve proved that, don’t you? Can’t justify it today, though, not when you’ve been well-behaved for once.” He kissed the corner of Chris’s mouth and Chris moaned and the Major bit gently at his lower lip, all sensitive from before. “Good boy. Keep talking for me.”

“Yeah, major, I need you—”

“Getting a little repetitive there, Chris. I think I’ve heard about enough about how you much you need me, like I can’t tell that already from you getting wood every time I so much as fucking look at you.”

“What do you want, then?” he said, kind of desperate now because the Major had slowed way down on him and was holding Chris’s hip hard with his other hand to stop him from trying to push forward and do the work himself.

The Major tutted at him again. “Well, I’d have thought that’d be obvious. Let’s hear what you were so _all-fired_ determined to tell me this morning, about your Uncle Billy and the horses.”

“Oh, shit, major, I can’t think—”

The Major’s hand went even slacker than before. “Then you can’t _come_.”

“Fuck. You got no decency, major, none at all.” That got him down to nothing but a thumb and forefinger and the barest little bit of pressure on him and he whimpered and hated himself for whimpering because the Major always got such an unseemly damn kick out of it. He rallied. “My Uncle Billy taught me how to ride, like I _said_ , and I—” Things had picked up again. “That turned out to be a good thing, because Ernest, when you really think about it, he can’t ride for shit, major. Not the kind of riding you need to do in hard country, anyways. He teaches—fuck—he teaches dressage for ladies, you know, where the horses step around all fancy, or he did, I don’t know, I ain’t been home since—and I didn’t talk to him even then because Daddy said it wasn’t a job for a man to have but—faster, major, _oh dammit_ —”

He got one arm around the Major’s waist and pulled himself closer and the Major’s hand skipped down on him hard and then pulled up even harder and Chris came, his ears pounding. He felt like that had taken just about all of him and never mind the rest of the day, they’d have to go back to bed now: they’d never slept in the middle of the day before and it would be some kind of something, he thought fuzzily, to put his head on the Major’s shoulder like he was asleep before he _was_ asleep. With the sun all warm on them like a blanket. And he’d get to look at the Major in good strong daylight if he could wheedle him into napping in the altogether and that would be a treat. He liked looking.

“Fuck, major, that cleaned me out.” He stepped back and got a look at what he’d done to the Major’s clothes. “Well. We needed a laundry day anyhow.” He glanced back at the table, hopeful for maybe a piece of toast that wouldn’t taste half-bad cold. “You ate the rest of my breakfast, asshole.”

The Major shrugged, unrepentant. “I’d say, for the record, it’s a damn good thing you don’t know dressage for ladies or I’d have even more trouble taking you serious than I do already.”

“Yeah,” Chris said, because it probably was, though he’d liked Ernest well enough. And it wasn’t like he didn’t know himself some things that his daddy wouldn’t have thought it was any man’s business to know. He shook his head. “Where’d you even get the idea to do that anyhow?”

The Major seemed to find that the funniest fucking thing he’d ever heard. “Chris Mannix, I’ve been thinking about shutting you up that way since the day I met you. If ever there was a white boy who needed cock in his mouth just to make him bearable, it’s you.”

Chris rolled his eyes, but that did remind him. “You ain’t never really had a boy like me down like _that_ for three hours, did you?”

The Major looked at him for a bit, like something was still funny but like he didn’t know who the joke was on this time, and then he put his thumb against Chris’s lower lip again, even though he’d gotten himself pretty dry by then.

“No,” the Major said. “I never had a boy like you at all.”


End file.
